Years
by Eidolon Tree
Summary: Schuldig & Crawford start a relationship based on casual sex, but years pass, and things change. FIRST of my Schwarz Trilogy. Keywords: daily life, slow psychosis, love.


**Years**  
  


Schuldich looked up from the floor. The kick had been great, really. Perfect form, perfect follow through, Schuldich had been flipped over from his hands and knees to his back with just that one kick. He couldn't breathe for a moment, and when he did he took in the breath with a sharp, desperate reactionary inhale, gulping down the air. 

"Don't you ever let me catch you doing that shit again." Crawford was glaring down at him. His cheeks were flushed a little and he was breathing hard. "You're useless to me if you're fucking high, Schuldich. Useless. If I catch you doing that again, I will put a bullet in your head." 

Schuldich laughed. 

Nagi was standing off to one side, eyes shallow. He'd been watching all this time. Ten years old and learning a lesson. 

"See Nagi?" He laughed, coughed to the corner Nagi was in. "This is what happens when you piss him off." 

Crawford reached down, grabbed his arm and pulled him up. Crawford looked him in the eye significantly. "Then don't piss me off." 

"Uppity bastard." Schuldich grinned. 

"Promise me." Crawford had eyes that promised. 

"Promise you what?" Schuldich kept his voice purposefully light. 

"Fuck you, say it." It didn't sound right coming from him. He had a voice that didn't sound at all suitable for swearing. It was too vulgar. Wasn't Crawford the refined sort? Even his shadows were clean? 

Schuldich laughed again, laughing means you win. "I won't do it anymore, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." 

Crawford continued to look him in the eye. Crawford, stuck inside his own bad ass. Schuldich grinned at him. Crawford let go of him, spun around on his smooth dress shoes, and left the room. In a snap. He did things like that. Schuldich snorted and smiled sideways at Nagi. 

"Don't cry." Schuldich hissed suddenly. "Don't you dare." He walked away. His side hurt. He made sure not to remove the smile from his face though. Later, Crawford would bitch about the fact that Schuldich wasn't moving as fast. Then he could place blame with a free smile. He walked up the hallway, braced himself lightly against the wall with his right hand. Okay, he deserved that beating. And it wasn't that bad. He'd had worse. In fact, it was kind of cool. Just seeing Crawford lose his temper had a sort of fascinating quality to it. 

It was fun. He looked at himself in the mirror. Face was fine. Crawford had manners, apparently. No bruises on the face. What a champ, Schuldich felt like congratulating him. Even enraged, Crawford was still such a calculating fuck. In fact… Schuldich probably wouldn't bruise at all. 

Schuldich sighed. A taste of narcotics was sort of nice, he debated screwing with Crawford one more time and getting one more taste. Heroin was fun. It felt good. But he didn't like coming down from it. And Crawford probably meant business. Crawford always meant business. 

He finger combed his green hair, checked his throat -- okay, maybe some bruises there. He grabbed a brush and brushed back his hair till it laid down and behaved, till it stopped being such a tangled mess. He tossed his head and immediately regretted it. His neck hurt like hell. Whiplash? He wasn't sure. 

Maybe Crawford worked him over just a little more than he thought. 

Schuldich licked his lips, which had cracked in the middle, it came away with a copper taste. He pursed his lips lightly, and licked them over and over again until the blood was less. He liked the taste of blood. He supposed it suited his vocation. 

He pulled back and examined his face. He liked looking at himself. He was aware of his attributes. He brushed his fingertips over pronounced cheekbones, ran his fingers across the skin. He liked that sound. 

He sighed, and walked away from the mirror. Not five minutes after the beating and he was already bored.   
  
  


Breakfast time in their little flat. Schuldich took a tray to the locked room, and made sure the albino with the god complex ate. He watched, and he listened, and he made sure the thing didn't try and kill itself. Crawford always sent him in to deal with it. Crawford said it liked Schuldich best out of them all, and Nagi was simply too young to see it. 

So when it was done, he took the tray away, made sure the door was locked in the knob and dead bolted in three places before he left. Schuldich knew what was inside that thing's head. It gave him headaches sometimes, how it would think that over and over again. 

Hurting god, people, the world. 

How, dull. But at the same time, sort of entertaining. Schuldich sighed. Now to wash its dishes and finally get to his own meal. 

He almost washed the dish, gave up and just threw his own breakfast on it. He shoved the plate of last night's supper into the microwave, sat at their table and waited. Crawford was drinking coffee out of a white mug with a dirty brown crack in it, the glaze holding the coffee in. Nagi was staring at his re-heated take out and not talking. 

"Oh, eat. Food is good." Schuldich said in annoyance. 

"I'm not hungry." His voice was too low for a child, fragile with too much knowledge. 

Schuldich hated delicate things. "No, you aren't hungry. You're starving. Eat." 

Nagi picked at it lightly, forcing down bits of vegetable. Nagi always wanted to deprive himself. He felt like he had to punish himself for everything he did wrong. Break the law? Don't eat for a week. Don't do exactly as Crawford says? Don't eat for a week. 

Child's logic. 

"'I'll punish myself because he won't.' God, Nagi, you're such a martyr." Schuldich huffed. The microwave dinged at him, he jumped up and retrieved his meal. The yellow florescent light had a light buzz to it, the whole damn kitchen felt surreal. 

And Crawford was perfectly calm, reading his newspaper, and drinking coffee. 

"I'm not a martyr." 

Schuldich laughed at him. "Little Jesus." 

"Schuldich." There was a low warning in his voice. "Stop picking on him." 

Schuldich flipped an amused look at him, "Yes, daddy." 

Schuldich was rewarded with yellowish hazel eyes flicking at him in mild annoyance. 

Why _did_ Schuldich find that so amusing? 

He laughed at Crawford softly, and started to eat. It was gummy stuff, and salty. Schuldich could feel the MSG teaming up with the nicotine from his cigarette earlier to kill him. 

All in all, he spent most of that morning amused. 

After breakfast, Crawford showed them the schematics for their next job. He paid a lot of attention to Nagi. Schuldich guessed Nagi needed it. And all in all, Nagi really was too smart for his age. 

The hit went down smoothly. They had one hostage, which they let the albino take care of. Death made it so pleased with itself. 

Schuldich convinced it to put its straight jacket back on. Schuldich convinced it to sit quietly in the car. It talked to itself quietly. It was a soft, strange brogue. Schuldich didn't bother to listen to what it said. He heard a lot of "God" and a lot of "suffer" and a lot of "victim" but beyond that, he was too busy listening to the radio. 

"That was fun." Schuldich shifted gears, and the jeep hopped over a hill. Crawford gave him a bit of a look and pushed the glasses that had slipped down his nose back up. "What?" 

"Try and drive less like you're running way from something." 

"No cops around. We're fine." He kept driving fast. 

"Schuldich. Use some—" 

"Common sense." A petulant look. Crawford annoyed. Schuldich felt a smile move across his lips before he could stop it. He really liked annoying Crawford. Crawford was a lot more fun than some of the other, older people he'd been stuck with in the past. He supposed maybe it was because they were closer in age. 

Crawford's profile was sharp against the sky. Crawford kept his sides shaved, but the top was longish, which made his hair perfect for the wind to whip around and muss. "We need something other than a jeep." Crawford said, resting an elbow in the open window and a hand on his knee. "This just isn't –" 

"Sexy?" Schuldich laughed. His hair was long, and wild in the wind. The green of it whipped around and he laughed again, hitting another speed bump and the entire jeep lurched. "But it's so damn fun." 

They got back at home safely, they threw it back in its room and bolted the door. They forced Nagi to eat and study. Crawford told Nagi that he was intelligent, and letting that intelligence go to waste was a greater crime than murder. 

Interesting priorities, Crawford has. 

The stepped out of Nagi's room, Schuldich following Crawford around. Crawford kept on flicking looks at him over his shoulder. Slightly narrowed, odd looks. Schuldich only smiled sweetly. 

"You're so fun to play with, Bradley." 

"Crawford." 

"What?" 

"You call me 'Crawford', we're not on a first name basis." 

"You call me 'Schuldich.'" He pointed out, with a light tilt of his chin. He showed his teeth in a grin that didn't really mean 'friendly.' 

"What's your last name." All of Crawford's questions came out like demands. 

"'Sweetheart.'" Schuldich made a kiss noise at him. 

Crawford stopped, arched a delicate eyebrow at him again. "Schuldich Sweetheart, leave me the hell alone." 

Schuldich couldn't help but laugh, "Alright, Bradley Darling."   
  
  


He was playing his music too loud and he knew it. He turned it up just a little louder and smiled a little impishly. The tenants downstairs were bitching at them, the tenants upstairs to, and their neighbors to each side. He didn't really care about annoying them. 

His bedroom door opened and Crawford narrowed his eyes lightly at him. Schuldich gave him a sweet look.   
  
  


Crawford was looking out his window. Looking up at the sky. He had a mild headache. He didn't like that. 

They were such a rough team. A team that didn't make sense. Bradley Crawford was only twenty-three, and in charge of kids. Nagi hardly knew what to do aside from push people away, Schuldich was a bit of a nut case, and Farfarello was a nutcase. They kept Farfarello locked away, half the time. Crawford doubted he knew the difference between freedom and imprisonment. 

Schuldich was a disciplinary problem. 

Crawford was annoyed. 

He wondered then if maybe he was being a bit extremist about the whole thing. Maybe the answer was far more simple than all this struggle. Maybe all it took to win this situation over was a different point of view, a new plan of attack. He considered a different tactic…. 

And laughed.   
  
  


Schuldich was laying on his back, in his bed, in his room, looking at the ceiling. There was a knock at his door. He reached with his telepathy. "I don't hear anything. So fuck you, Crawford." 

"Schuldich, open the door." 

"No." he didn't bother to get up out of bed. "I don't want to." 

The door opened. 

"Okay, next time I lock it." And he laughed. "Fuck, Bradley, that's so rude. Didn't your mother raise you right?" Schuldich tilted his head to look at Crawford. "You gonna yell at me for calling you Bradley?" 

"No." 

He arched an eyebrow at Crawford. "You're acting weird today." 

"You want a drink with me?" Crawford's even voice, simple and polite. 

"What?" Schuldich didn't get it. 

"Drink." Crawford said patiently. "Alcohol." 

"Why." 

"Why not?" 

"You sound too reasonable." Schuldich sat up. "I don't get it." 

"So, join me and have a drink. We'll talk." 

"But why." He still didn't get up. He was still uncertain. 

"Schuldich, why the hell not? We're going to be working together for god knows how long. It'd be stupid for us to constantly collide." Crawford pushed his glasses up, ran his fingers through his hair lightly and smiled at the corner of his mouth. "I'm not a stupid man. We would work better together if we liked each other. Alcohol will help that along." 

"What makes alcohol better than heroin?" He still remembered the beating. 

"Control." 

Schuldich looked at him. Crawford was so neat, tidy -- anal-retentive, and egocentric. Schuldich didn't really like him. Crawford was the type that was cool and calm to a point, then fuck you over good. Crawford was the sort of man that never let you know you were in danger. 

Schuldich grinned. "Sure." And he got up with some effort and walked to Crawford. "If you can keep up with me, old man." And shot Crawford a flirty wink and walked away. He hoped Crawford was unnerved by the wink. Most men were. 

The walked to Crawford's study room. It was a sort of messy place, with one slightly broken desk full of schematics and a computer that was never turned off. Schuldich didn't come in here often. 

"Christ, for some reason I thought it would be neat." 

Crawford arched an eyebrow at him. "It is sometimes. It isn't sometimes." Crawford shrugged at him. It seemed less like how Crawford should be, Schuldich didn't know how to take it. "I have bourbon, I have grain alcohol, vodka –" 

"You have more than one?" 

Crawford looked up at him. "Why shouldn't I?" 

Schuldich couldn't think of a very good answer to that so he didn't say anything. 

Crawford regarded him. "Grain alcohol. I'll get mixers." And he turned and did just that. Crawford seemed to Schuldich to be very abrupt. He made decisions, and acted on them at that exact moment. 

"You don't mind me drinking?" Schuldich still wanted to doubt. 

"I don't mind you killing. I shouldn't mind you drinking." He poured some grain alcohol in a glass, topped it with fruit juice, and handed the alcohol bottle to Schuldich to pour his own shot. Schuldich tipped a great deal into the cup, enough to make Crawford raise his eyebrows, and then added the fruit juice. 

"But you mind heroin." Schuldich can't keep the wise-ass out of his voice. 

Crawford tried at patience, his tone reasoning. "Idiots use drugs that strong. Take the drink." Crawford sat down on the small couch in his office. Really their accommodations weren't very good this time. They weren't considered important enough to be given nice places to stay yet. Crawford stretched, and set his drink down on the coffee table. 

"So." Schuldich sat down heavily, on the opposite end of the same couch. 

"So." Crawford says back. "Do you like Esstet?" 

"Feh." Schuldich drank too much of his drink in one swig and hand to inhale through his nose a moment. "No. Bet you love it. Bet it's a fucking career wet dream come true for you." 

"Right. Sitting up, rolling over, and begging whenever Esstet tells me to is great fun." 

Schuldich and Crawford blinked at each other a moment, both drank from their glasses. 

"So Esstet pisses you off so much, you decide to do your damn best to make them happy?" Schuldich snorts, looks away. "Brilliant." 

"I get what I want from them right now. I'm taking my time. I have time." 

Schuldich swung long legs onto the couch, drew his knees lightly to his chest and considered Crawford. "How do you know?" 

"I know." A soft arrogant smile touches his lips. 

"What do you do?" Schuldich asked, nursed his drink this time. 

"Order you around, be an all around arrogant fuck and then ignore you when you aren't useful." 

"I mean aside from that, dumbass." 

Crawford rolled his head and looked at him. Another, lazy, arrogant smile touching his lips. Arrogance, it seemed to be a job requirement for all the team leaders Schuldich had worked with in the past. 

"I'm a precog." 

"Oh, is that all?" Precognition was rare. A lot more rare than empathy and telepathy. 

"That and I'm an genius." 

"Arrogant fuck, aren't you?" He couldn't help but laugh a bit. 

"Aren't you?" Crawford gave him a light smile again, this time it had less arrogance and more amusement. 

Schuldich looked at him a bit, answering it with a bit of a wry grin of his own. "Yeah, guess I am." He drank again. The warmth of it was starting to spread through him already. "Strong stuff." 

"Yes, it is." 

Awkward silence. They both drank and looked at each other. Schuldich didn't wipe the grin off his face. 

"Why do you do that." 

"What?" 

"Smile all the god damn time. It's annoying." 

Schuldich laughed. "You just answered your own question, Craw-daddy." 

Crawford blinked at him a moment. He arched an eyebrow delicately. That seemed to be Crawford's favorite facial expression. "Isn't that a fish?" 

"Close enough." Schuldich laughed. 

Crawford's eyebrows knit together lightly, and then after a moment, he smiled, looked down at his cup and shook his head. "Mm, okay. Fine. Not in public." 

Schuldich paused. "What?" 

"Are you deaf, too?" 

"Huh." Schuldich tossed back the last of his drink. "Never thought you had a sense of humor." 

"Never thought someone as skinny as you could toss back so many damn shots." 

Schuldich laughed. "I drink." 

"I noticed. Want more?" 

"Yeah." 

Crawford took his cup and went to make them more drinks. Schuldich stretched out and sighed. It felt good on his back to stretch out, he'd gotten uncomfortable, sitting there unmoving against the fat overstuffed couch arm. It was probably the alcohol, but he found that Crawford wasn't as bad as he originally thought he was. 

Crawford approached the couch, holding both drinks, and looked down at him. Schuldich smiled smugly back up at him. "I've claimed the couch." 

Crawford laughed once, "I see that." He set Schuldich's drink on the coffee table, and did the unthinkable. He sat on the floor. Schuldich thought that was just weird, but made no comment. Crawford sighed and stretched, placing his back to the edge of the couch, arching. Schuldich liked how that looked. He admired it, felt the cloth of Crawford's sleeve touch his pant leg. He liked that, too. Crawford ended his stretch with a long sigh. 

"Crawford." 

"Hm?" 

"When was the last time you got really, really smashed?"   
  
  


He forgot why he was laughing. He couldn't remember if his life depended on it, and for some reason that made it funnier. He laughed and he laughed a lot. He tried to stand up, off the couch, away from Crawford, and get the bottle of gin they'd started on when the grain alcohol ran out, found that for some reason his feet had become round, and fell down again. He landed roughly at Crawford's side, their legs pressed close. 

Schuldich was laughing so hard he was crying. 

"Ooh, fuck. Why are we laughing?" 

"Not a fucking clue." 

"I can't believe you said 'fuck' – you always seemed too classy for that." 

"Hontou ne?" 

"Hontou ne." Schuldich nodded and turned his head so it rested on Crawford's shoulder. "I must be very drunk." 

"You are. Definitely. So am I." 

Schuldich hadn't made a habit of checking Crawford out at all. He was too much of a fucking bastard. Drunk, he supposed, altered that a bit. "I never thought of you as hot before." 

"What?" Sounding simply surprised. 

"What?" Schuldich blinked up at him. 

"You said I was hot." 

"You are. Just never noticed. Before, I mean. How hot you were." 

"Huh." Crawford looked down at him. Schuldich heard something in his voice and looked up. Crawford was giving him a sort of…look of consideration. Schuldich was too drunk for a moment to realize what it meant. Then Crawford casually, almost affectionately, leaned down and kissed him. They drew apart, and considered each other. Crawford kissed him again, this time making it last longer, keeping it soft and dry. They drew apart again. Neither were breathless, they were still considering what to do. 

"Oh, is that what this is?" He drawled softly. Their faces were still near. "Fuck me into submission?" He can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Fuck me into servitude? Fuck me into the mattress?" Schuldich laughed. "Never thought you'd be the type." He didn't pull away though. 

"I'm not." Crawford's voice leveled out. He pushed Schuldich away from him. Schuldich caught Crawford's wrist. He felt a point bone in the palm of his hand. 

"I wouldn't mind." Schuldich's voice was light. "At least I'd enjoy myself." 

Crawford turned and gave him a measuring look. He grasped Schuldich's chin, turned his face from side to side. It amused Schuldich. "Normally I'd consider you too young." 

"I'm pretty sure I'm 18." A blatant lie, but Crawford didn't have to know. "Perfectly legal in most countries. Aren't I pretty enough for you?" Schuldich moved Crawford's hand away, his smile unwavering, leaned in close and kissed Crawford. 

It was…a good kiss. Messier and softer than the first, a drunk kiss, after all. Already wet, lips parted and pressing. Schuldich sighed and relaxed into it. He liked it. They drew apart. Crawford's eyes had darkened somewhat. Schuldich kissed him lightly at the end of it, then, close mouthed. His way of sealing the kiss. Crawford smiled down at him. For a moment, the two of them made too dumb with liquor to really know what to do next. Schuldich let one hand drift down away from the back of Crawford's neck, play across Crawford's chest, and rest at Crawford's groin. Crawford caught Schuldich's wrist, and pushed him back so that they were lying down. They started to kiss. Crawford drew away. "This really wasn't part of my agenda." 

"Always with the agendas. I've never met anyone who's scheduled a one night stand." He ran his hands up Crawford's stomach. "Never knew you had such a great body." 

They ground pelvises and proceeded to make out. It felt good, and they were clumsy from the liquor. Schuldich was getting a little breathless from it, he was enjoying himself so much that when Crawford pulled away he couldn't quite understand the concept. 

"Eh?" Schuldich was amazed at how smart he sounded. 

Crawford's eyes didn't quite focus at him for a moment, "We shouldn't." 

"God damn, I thought we didn't have morals." Schuldich yelled. 

"Morals? Hn. Common sense." 

Schuldich grinned, grabbed the back of the couch, and pulled himself up to a sitting position. His hair swung to one side as he did it, the ends of one side damp from when he spilt some fruit juice on it. He felt playful. Schuldich pulled himself so he was straddling Crawford's legs, smiled down at him. "Fuck common sense. We're drunk enough." 

They got up, at first trying to keep the kiss. It took them a moment to realize how silly that was, but they helped each other to the bedroom. He couldn't really walk without help, but he didn't mind. Crawford smelt like old paper, cigarettes, coffee, and liquor. It was a nice combination. 

Schuldich pressed the thin cotton cloth of Crawford's shirt against his belly, moving it around and feeling Crawford's muscle underneath. They tried to take each other's clothes off before they decided it would just be easier to take their own clothes off. Schuldich was still out of it, his thoughts weren't on the voices around him, Nagi downstairs, the thing locked its room or their neighbors who were more than a little suspicious of their relationship with one another. They were slipping each other tongue and groping, enjoying themselves 

The bed hit the backs of his legs unexpectedly. They fell. 

Schuldich's whole world swooped for a moment. "Wow," He whispered into Crawford's ear, "I'm really drunk." 

Crawford broke away, looked down at him and laughed once softly. "You want to stop then?" 

"Oh, hell no." He reached upwards, wrapped one hand across the back of Crawford's head, and pulled him down to kiss. Left to right, their lips went, and they way they parted and searched was great. Introductory sex, the two of them trying to figure out where to touch and remember it for later. 

Crawford pulled away long enough to shake his head and look down at him. 

He laughed again, and started to move his hands around Schuldich's body. Their hands were clumsy, their tongues twined and they tangled into each other. Schuldich found he was laughing a lot. 

But it was erotic. 

It was erotic fun. 

Schuldich moaned and laughed when Crawford gripped his shaft. Schuldich moaned and laughed when kisses went exploring across his belly, looking for sensitive spots. He freaked out when Crawford started to push his fingers in. 

"What? Oh, no no no no." Schuldich laughed again. "I don't do uke." 

"I do ukes." Crawford laughed down at Schuldich, the pressure of their bodies was obvious to Schuldich. He could feel Crawford's weight, and the heat of Crawford pressing against him. "Oh, come on, try it." 

"Crawford, no." He pushed at Crawford's arm. "I'm having fun. Don't fuck it up for me." 

Crawford laughed at him. "Double entendre." 

"Bradley…" 

And there were gentle lips at his throat, and there were hands moving across his torso, and there was the heat of bodies moving. 

It was harder to say 'no' while Crawford was actually doing it to him. 

There was a sweaty, anticlimactic pause when Crawford broke out the lube. An awkward burn when the fingers slid in and he wasn't ready for it. He dug his fingers into Crawford's shoulders and arched. He didn't really like it. He didn't really hate it. It just felt incredibly… weird. 

"Crawford, stop it." 

"You like it." 

"Stop it, damn you." He pushed hard at Crawford, glared up at him. 

"What?" Crawford's voice was irritable. His hair was mussed from Schuldich's hands and he still smelt like liquor. It suddenly wasn't as appealing. "Why am I stopping now?" 

"Crawford—" And Schuldich was kissed. It was a good kiss, just rough and hungry. The two of them a lot more sober now, getting more sober the more they touched each other. Sex seemed to have a clarifying effect on them. Crawford started to move his fingers inside Schuldich, and they broke the kiss. "I don't think…" but he couldn't remember what he was going to say. 

"Definitely." Crawford whispered into his ear, "Definitely, don't think." 

Lips at his ear, moist and parted, hands at his body. He reached forwards and explored, racing touches over curved muscle, feeling their movement. Opening his eyes and enjoying the color of Crawford's skin, the small human net of cracks, tiny hairs sensitive to the lightest caress (grip it hard, feel not a thing – feather it softly, induce the sweetest shiver). 

Crawford gripping his ankles and making him spread his legs. He was surprised when he heard himself cry out, felt his body instinctively arch and try and pull away. Crawford growled and pulled him back down. "Stop it." Crawford said into his face, eyes close. 

"It hurt." He hissed back at him. "What did you expect me to do?" 

Crawford's eyes were beautiful with lust, Crawford drew a hand across Schuldich's cheek and kissed him on the mouth, open already. 

Schuldich was now perfectly sober and wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to try and get away from Crawford or let him slide deeper in. Crawford solved his problem easily. He pressed down on Schuldich's shoulders and pushed it in too fast. Schuldich cried out again, thrashing once under him. "Ow, god damnit Crawford. That was too fast." 

Crawford laughed once, softly in his ear. "Sorry." 

Soft wet lips again. And now they were having sex. And now they were perfectly sober. He found himself wrapping his arms tightly around Crawford, clinging more than he thought he would. He pulled Crawford down, pressed his lips close to Crawford's ear and whispered back, "I hate being uke." 

"This position won't work." Crawford pulled out too fast and Schuldich winced. 

Another position, this time Schuldich was on his knees, gripping the headboard tightly, bouncing back onto Crawford, feeling vocal and moaning. Crawford reaching around and stroking him. Schuldich came hard, staining one of their pillows. Crawford grabbed him, and forced him to lay on his back then, his cock slipping out. Crawford hovered over Schuldich, gazing into Schuldich's eyes intensely. One hand was working on himself hard. Schuldich reached down touch him, "If you like I can –" 

"No." He hissed. "Stay still." Crawford breathed at him. "Stay still and look at me." Schuldich did as he was told. Crawford's breathing was erratic and hard, his right hand fisting himself hard and pumping quickly. "Look at me, Schuldich. Look at me." Schuldich hadn't moved. His eyes dipped closed for a moment, and Crawford let himself go long enough to grip Schuldich's chin. "Don't close your eyes. Don't." Schuldich sighed up at him, a soft lazy smile touched his lips. Crawford gripped himself and pumped again. 

A few moments later, Crawford let out a harsh breath, his body shuddering. Schuldich felt it land on him. Crawford dipped his head down, forehead resting on Schuldich a moment. 

They fell asleep after that. Crawford made sure the alarm clock was set.   
  
  
  


Five AM and the radio clicked on. Some horrible Jpop upbeat thing started to play. Schuldich groaned, clicked his tongue to wet the roof of his mouth and sighed. His breath tasted awful. 

"Don't get up." A low voice said at his side. Crawford. 

Schuldich promptly ignored him and sat up. His ass immediately ached, his shoulders immediately ached, his head throbbed and the world swooped. His stomach immediately began to claw its way back up his throat. Schuldich ran to Crawford's bathroom and fell at the toilet, vomiting. 

"I told you so." 

The smell of it almost made him want to vomit again. "Bastard." Schuldich muttered. But his annoyance was short lived, really. He flushed the toilet, and was soothed by how cold it was on the bathroom floor. The tiles pressed against his knees and the porcelain actually feeling good against his cheek. He almost felt feverish he was so hung over. After he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to vomit again, he pulled himself up to his feet. He wasn't as dizzy. He walked to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Green hair," He muttered at himself. "I've got to change that." 

He grabbed Crawford's toothbrush and brushed his teeth. When he was done, he dragged his aching self back to the bedroom and lay back down on the bed. "Why do you get your own bathroom?" 

"You used my toothbrush." 

"You fucked me up the ass. Fair trade." 

They both lay there and ached quietly for a while. After what seemed like forever, Schuldich heard his own alarm clock go off down the hallway. Without him there to turn it off, it would just keep going. Luckily, he almost never woke up with his alarm clock. Nagi wouldn't consider the noise unusual at all. 

"What time do we work today?" 

"Nine." 

"Thank god." He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. "I haven't been this hung over in for fucking ever." 

They were silent again. And after a while, Crawford eased his way back up to a sitting position. He poured himself a glass of water and drank all of it in one long gulp. He poured himself another glass and sipped it with a sigh, and braced his back against the wall. Crawford turned to consider Schuldich. 

"I don't have love affairs." Crawford said matter of factly. "I don't want a romance." 

Schuldich grinned up at him. "No problem." 

Schuldich took a shower and dressed in some clean clothes, made sure the albino ate, and then ate his own breakfast. It was nearly business as usual. Schuldich couldn't quite keep his eyes off of Crawford now, though. Noticing for the first time the way he held his cup of coffee in the morning, the posture he had. It was beautiful. Pristine in it's control. Schuldich smiled flirtatiously, slid a hand up Crawford's leg under the table. Crawford flicked a look at him and arched a questioning brow. Arching eyebrows. Crawford's favorite facial expression. It was so subtle and it spoke volumes. It suited Crawford. 

"Hm?" 

"We gonna have some fun today?" 

"Yeah, we are."   
  
  


It was watching their newest job. It was babbling to itself again. It was hating god and yelling inside its head. It was thinking over and over again about cutting the Nagi's cheeks off and feeling the fatty, moist insides, stroking the round skin of the outside, licking the blood. It was tied up in the meantime, so it was just watching. It kept on frowning when it thought something it didn't like. It was having a particularly episodic day. 

Schuldich debated smacking it upside the head. Its rants on god and the definition of being were more Taoist and interesting than this babble. Sometimes it made sense, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it seemed more like a prophet in a straight jacket than anything else. Sometimes it was just a fucking nut case. 

"Farfarello. Woof." Schuldich kicked it. 

"Schuldich." Crawford's voice was warning. 

"What? It didn't feel anything." He kicked it again. "See?" 

Crawford angled a warning look at him. 

"Hn. Alright. Fine. You're no fun." 

They let it go to play, they gave it knives to throw and press into human flesh. Schuldich was getting a headache. It was just so damn repetitive. It just wouldn't stop talking over and over and over again about the justice that god needed to receive. It was so self righteous. It was so damn… religious. They went home after the hit and Schuldich threw it into its room harder than was necessary. He didn't like headaches like this. The ones that pounded deep in the back of his skull. It was like having a song caught in your head. Only one lyric.   
  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
  


It always chanted in holy threes. 

Schuldich sighed after the door was locked. Pressed his back to the door and pinched the narrow bit of his nose hard until the pain got a little less. He made a decision, turned on his heel and walked down the grey hallway to Crawford's office. 

He opened the door without knocking. He walked up to Crawford's desk where he sat, and half lay down. "Hey, baby." 

Crawford looked up at him, just a little annoyed. "What?" 

"Sex." 

Crawford looked a little surprised. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't be lovers." 

"We don't have to be lovers to have sex." He got playful, reached out and tickled his fingers at the edge of Crawford's collar. Crawford gave him a reproachful look and caught his wrist. 

"Can you do that? Most people can't." 

"Of course I can. I don't like you. You wanted us to get along, right? Sex seems agreeable enough to me. Even if I don't think I want to drink with you again." He got up off the desk and sat on Crawford's lap, kissed Crawford's lower lip and smiled up at him. 

Crawford was giving him measuring looks. After a moment, Crawford cupped his cheek, and kissed him properly. He drew away and Crawford's eyes hadn't altered to lust yet. 

"Come back here in an hour. I'll be done working by then." Crawford said, and pushed Schuldich away. 

Schuldich laughed, got off of Crawford's lap, and left the office.   
  
  
  


Twenty years old. He was still a wise ass, and he was still screwing Crawford. But he was also dating just about anything that looked reasonably attractive and would put out. Crawford didn't mind, and half the time didn't even seem to notice. Schuldich didn't bother being miffed about it. He had to admit, he didn't care if Crawford was seeing other people too. Whenever he couldn't find himself a date, he'd just crawl into bed with Crawford. It was an agreeable situation. 

They didn't really fight anymore, either. 

And sex with Crawford was great. Two years of casual sex and they had each other's bodies memorized. Fingers knew where to brush gently, and hands knew when to grip with white knuckles. They played around, they experimented, they had quite a bit of fun. Schuldich found that flirting with Crawford in public was a great way to amuse himself. It got Crawford so infinitely pissed. 

He never thought Crawford would be so fun. 

Their new place was decent. Not anywhere near as shabby as the old place. Crawford didn't really want them living inside too much luxury. He said it would spoil them. Schuldich made himself a light supper and went to his own bedroom. 

Sex with Crawford was good, yes. Sleep when you were on the verge of a headache was good, too. He thought of taking his prescription, changed his mind. He just didn't like the pills. Two years of Crawford and the only addictions he had were to coffee and cigarettes. Murder and manipulation were amusing, not addictive. Sex was fun, not necessary. He stretched out on his firm mattress. The room was just a little too warm for him, the light from outside was just a little too bright. He couldn't sleep.   
  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
Hurt god.  
  


Schuldich sighed with irritation. He was always able to tune everyone out, it was easy. You stand in a room full of people shouting and you can easily ignore them by not listening. Farfarello though could be repetitive to the point of being hard to ignore. After a while though, it had the same sort of soothing effect a ticking clock had. 

He fell asleep. 

He dreamt of birds. He was a bird killer. That was his job, and he enjoyed it. He was in a room full of birds, but whatever birds flew into the golden cage at the center of the room were the ones he killed specifically. Not the bird that flit at his cheek and bit his ear. Not at the birds that pounded their wings on the milky windows of the white room. Just the birds that flew into the cage. One flew in there now through a door on the others side of the cage. A parakeet. It cocked its eye at Schuldich, knowingly. It was suicidal. Schuldich opened the little sliding door on his side, and did his job. He liked his job. He liked the soft feathers in his hands as he pulled the head upwards away from the spine. He did not remove the head. All he did was break it's neck. He examined the corpse with a sort of gentle interest. A bird flit at his cheek, against his mouth and flew away. He liked this. He liked having his hands full of wings. The birds flew around and around him. One more flew into the cage. And he did his job. 

Schuldich woke up feeling rested. 

That night, they were going to work at 1am. Schuldich sort of wished they had normal day-to-day jobs. Then he realized he'd be too bored with that. He got up and stretched. He was still dressed for work. He liked wearing bright clothes to piss Crawford off. His new red hair clashing wonderfully with his bright green t-shirt. He remembered his dream with some sense of peace. 

He left his bedroom and walked down the hallway. He checked the office. Nagi was at the computer. Twelve years old and too smart for his age. The computer spat out some sort of odd, phonetic English words, and Nagi repeated them. Crawford insisted the boy be at least bilingual. Schuldich moseyed down to Nagi's bedroom, and walked in. 

Sitting next to Nagi's bed was a birdcage. Inside, a single parakeet, greenish with sweet black smiles at the tips of all its feathers. He walked over to Nagi's bed, and sat down, staring at it with catlike interest. He tilted his head to one side, and considered it. The bird's feathers were the same color as his own eyes. The bird's eyes were the same color as the smiles on its feathers. Schuldich wondered if its feathers were as soft as the feathers in his dream. He could feel Farfarello's thoughts beating against his brain like the birds inside the room. 

Before him, was the bird in the cage. 

He reached out, slid the cage door open. The bird panicked, and started to try and fly away, flinging itself around the cage before Schuldich caught it. The tiny claws hurt, the strong beak as it bit into the web of flesh between his pointer finger and thumb hurt. The feathers were soft. It shrieked a bit. Schuldich smiled lightly at it, fascinated by the sound. The birds in his dream had no voices. He reached down with his left hand, and broke it's spine. It stopped shrieking. He ran his fingers all over its feathers, nudging one finger underneath to feel the down. Soft, very soft, yes. Not quite like the dream, but still feeling good. He liked the resistance of the muscle as he forced the wings to spread. He felt the feather down again. He thought that the down felt like cat fur. He closed its wings after plucking a feather out of it, and tossed it back into its cage. Let Nagi find it. 

He walked to Nagi's bedroom mirror, and looked at himself. Smart-ass grin, jagged red hair, green t-shirt and jeans. He placed the feather between his lips like a cigarette and laughed. He looked like a tomcat. He opened his mouth, and placed the feather on his tongue. He thought that looked pretty, and looked at himself for a while, before he took plucked the feather off and stuck it to the mirror. 

He left Nagi's bedroom. He went to go make coffee. It'd be a long, dull night. He walked into Crawford's room. Crawford was wearing a suit of brilliant, perfect white. Crawford looked gorgeous, and he wanted to slide his hands over Crawford's body and felt he muscle underneath. Schuldich smiled sideways at him, "You dress that way to piss me off, don't you?"   
  
  
  


Twenty-one years old. He had a headache. A really bad headache. His whole body was involved. He wanted to cry it hurt so bad. All light hurt. The sounds of the world coming at from all directions.   
  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
  


Schuldich finally gave up, and jumped to his feet. His entire being throbbed and he wanted to fall over. He walked to Crawford's bedroom. He opened the door and walked to Crawford's bed. 

"Bradley." His own voice hurt his head. 

Crawford woke up and looked up at him. "I'm tired Schuldich. Not tonight." 

"Brad…" His voice broke. He closed his eyes hard and forced them open. The world faded in and out of focus for a moment. Everyone was thinking. Everyone was screaming. He felt nauseated. He thought he was going to faint. 

Only Crawford was silent. 

"Brad… can I stay here tonight?" His voice shook. "Please? We don't have to have sex, if you don't want to. Just, please." 

Crawford blinked up at him, two crescents of light from the streets outside disappeared as his eyelids dipped and reappeared as they opened again. "Why?" 

"You're quiet." He whispered. "Please, just this once, okay?" He was ready to beg. Crawford's presence was the only presence that didn't bring him any more pain. He desperately wanted some comfort. 

"Alright." 

And Schuldich nearly cried. He crawled into bed, and clung to Crawford all night, shaking. Crawford stroked his hair and kissed him lightly all night, Schuldich continuously tugging him back down to repeat the kiss over and over. It was soothing, every touch was soothing. With all his other lovers, every kiss involved him getting a flood of their thoughts, if he paid attention to the thoughts or not. With Crawford, there was no such thing. It was just a kiss. It was just pleasure. It just felt good.   
  
  
  


Schuldich heaved a sigh. 

"What?" Crawford sounded annoyed. 

"I'm bored." 

"So do something." Crawford looked away from him now, back to the newspaper. They sat in silence for a while. Then Schuldich clicked on the tv and started to watch movies. 

"There's some law somewhere that says if you're bored out of your mind nothings on tv, and if you gotta be somewhere where there's no tv, everything good is on." Schuldich muttered, and kicked back on the couch. 

"Mm." Crawford said. "News on?" 

"I don't know. I hate the news. You know that. Unless it's about us. Then it's pretty damn interesting." 

"If it's about us it better be because we're dead." Crawford sipped his coffee. "I don't want us ever to get so messy we're actually on the news." 

Schuldich grinned to himself. He rather liked how arrogant Crawford was now. Crawford had cause for arrogance. He was a fucking genius, and a precog, that had to be reason enough. 

"We're going to be moving soon." Crawford said simply. 

"Oh? Someplace nice this time? I'm getting sick of defending my damn dinner from roaches." 

"We get to choose. We have a budget now, we can afford someplace nice." Crawford shifted his weight on the ugly recliner. "And we're going to get rid of this furniture. I'm sure they're all infested by now anyways. How many rooms do you think we should get?" 

"Nagi will want internet. Farfarello will need a good holding room. Your office, my bedroom, your bedroom." 

"About that." Crawford dropped the newspaper. "You sleep in my room six days out of seven anyways. Why don't we just share a room?" 

Schuldich turned from the tv and gave Crawford a surprised look. "What?" 

"Share a room." 

"Why?" 

"I just told you why." Crawford's voice was reasonable. "There's no point in having so many rooms if we aren't using them." 

Schuldich blinked at him. "Is this getting serious?" 

"No, this is being economical." 

Schuldich laughed. But he felt pleased, he had to admit. "Four years of sex and I finally get to share a room with you." He kicked back onto the couch. "Fuckin grand."   
  
  
  


They weren't having sex that night. They were too tired for that. Schuldich had gotten used to the warmth of arms though, and pressed himself close to sleep. Crawford was gloriously silent, just a body. The light in the room was sepia. Crawford's alarm clock was digital, and the only thing in the room with color. Green like how Schuldich's hair was when he first met Crawford. 

Crawford's arms weren't around him. Schuldich was pressed against Crawford's back. Crawford was fast asleep. It was an amazing talent Crawford had, to do that. Schuldich always hated sleeping. He hated the feel of other people's dreams slipping into his brain. 

They'd been sharing a room now for a year. They'd been screwing each other for five years. Schuldich was twenty-two. He sighed. They both had lovers left and right. So sometimes the whole sharing a bed thing wasn't so nice. He rolled onto his back away from Crawford. The air away from Crawford's body was fresh and cool. He got cold quickly. 

In order for Crawford to keep Schuldich occupied he'd enrolled Schuldich into some community classes. Schuldich got to pick as many as he felt like. So long as he attended they'd all be paid for, care of Esstet. They had arched an eyebrow when he picked a few language classes and massage. But the massage class was just for Crawford. 

Crawford got so tense sometimes, the only way to get him into bed was to relax him. The plus side was, that meant Schuldich actually got to be seme more often. 

Schuldich sat up in bed, and went to get himself a beer. Life was pretty normal. He was enjoying himself fine. Their flat was quiet, and Schuldich sat on their recliner. It was a nice, soft worn leather. Crawford's chair. 

Schuldich liked it. He pressed his cheek against the cool leather, and closed his eyes. It smelled like Crawford. After a while, it warmed to his body temperature, and he moved his cheek to another spot that was cool. He drank his beer. Finally he got sleepy enough to go to bed. Tomorrow, Crawford had told him, they'd have an eventful day. A little fun, Crawford had even said. Schuldich liked Crawford's idea of fun, so he wanted to be rested for it. He curled at Crawford's side and fell asleep.   
  
  


"Look, kittens." Schuldich jeered down at the courtyard. "Can I keep one?" 

Weiß was wandering around there. Crawford said they'd be fun. 

"No, you can't keep one. But you can play if you like." 

"Aw," Schuldich pouted. He leaned down from the balacony and picked their brains lightly. "I'll take the sexy one with the glasses." He gave Crawford a flirty look. 

Crawford smiled sideways at him. "Then I'll take the redhead who thinks he can handle me." 

Schuldich chanted into Yohji's ear of Asuka. Schuldich danced around his brain. Schuldich had fun. They were so cute. Did they really think they could handle a team of professionals? After a bit of toying, they eventually left to go meet with their new employer, a fat old man who didn't know his real place in life.   
  
  


Schuldich was watching Nagi watch her. It was… sweet. Schuldich liked watching him watch her. 

He didn't remove the smile from his lips as he watched. He didn't remove the envy. 

His thoughts when he saw her were…sweet. 

And then Nagi pulled all the flowers from the field into the air, and flew them in a great hurricane around her. But it was all slow, and graceful. A ballet. The smell of crushed flowers reached Schuldich, and he inhaled. It was almost too sweet. Like when someone wearing too much perfume stands too close to you. In one swift move, Nagi had killed every flower in the field, all to make her laugh in a galaxy of petals and breathe in the smell of nectar. 

Her thoughts were childish. His thoughts were… tragic. Schuldich sighed. "Kawaii." He muttered, and turned around to see Crawford, who was frowning. "What?" 

"I don't approve." Was all he said, and walked away. 

Schuldich shrugged. "It's sweet." And he followed. 

He envied Nagi, a little. He had to admit.   
  
  


Morning coffee. The florescent light overhead was too bright. Schuldich was running his fingers on Crawford's leg, just because he liked Crawford's leg. To him, it was rather like petting a cat. If it felt good to pet, then he'd pet. 

Schuldich was thinking. Examining the table, tracing the patterns with his eyes, and absently stroking Crawford's leg. Crawford was used to it. He'd stopped batting the hand away years ago. 

Years. 

Schuldich was thinking. Takatori wasn't a very good employer. Takatori was in fact, some sort of idiot. Crawford didn't like him. Nagi didn't like him. Even Farfarello didn't like him. Crawford was talking to Schuldich about greater goals. About getting away from Esstet. And Schuldich had to admit… he really liked that Crawford was talking to him about that. Not even just because it was smart, possible, and desirable. 

Because Crawford was talking to him. 

He squeezed Crawford's knee without thinking and sipped his coffee.   
  
  


"How long has it been since you've had a different lover?" Crawford asked him. 

Schuldich blinked. "Huh?" 

"Lover. Different lover. It's been just me for a while now, hasn't it?" Crawford's voice was even, simple. Sexy as all hell, but at the same time demanding information Schuldich didn't want to give. 

"It's been a while." Schuldich dodged. He peeled off his shirt and started to get into bed. "We've just been so busy. And I don't feel like going out for food when I got this great at home cooking." 

"How long? I'm curious." 

Schuldich hesitated. "Three months." 

Crawford gave him a contemplative look. They didn't have sex that night.   
  
  


They were kissing in the dark. Another night, same year. It felt good. They'd kiss, pull just a little away, and kiss again. Alternating between dry, and wet. Schuldich felt warm all over, relaxed and good. He held Crawford's forearm tightly, pulling him back down again for another kiss. Crawford left Schuldich's lips to lap and bite at Schuldich's neck. Schuldich sighed happily. It all felt so good, so relaxing. 

Crawford broke away long enough to look at the alarm clock. "Shit." 

"Hm?" 

"Three hours." 

"Huh?" 

"Until work." Crawford sighed and looked down at Schuldich. Schuldich's hair was messed up from tumbling in the sheets, and there was a content smile on his lips. "That's not enough time." He stroked Schuldich's cheek. 

Schuldich shrugged. "I guess we should stop then." 

Crawford took in the pretty smile on Schuldich's lips, the mussed hair and the look of kittenish contentment he just seemed to exude. Crawford sighed and stroked his fingers over tangled hair. He rolled on top of Schuldich and started to kiss him again. "Not enough time for sex. I guess this will do." He pushed his knee between Schuldich's legs and started to kiss at him again. Schuldich laughed, and ran ticklish hands over Crawford's body. 

"You're so greedy." 

They slept well, went to work, did their job, and came home. Business as usual. Schuldich couldn't help but think he lead an ideal life.   
  
  


Crawford liked morning sex the best. Bodies were pliant still, relaxed from sleep. Foreplay didn't have to last very long, or even exist at all in the morning. And it made them both so incredibly positive through out the rest of the day. Certainly over the course of years, Schuldich had woken up to find he was having sex far more than once. 

And now, he woke up, and was having sex. He was relaxed into it. He laughed a little as Crawford ran ticklish fingers at his ribs. Schuldich wrapped his legs around Crawford's waist and smiled sleepily up at him. He'd woken up for the thrusting. And that's what Crawford was doing, his thick cock pulling out and pushing in a lovely rocking rhythm. Schuldich sighed and wrapped his arms around Crawford. This morning, it was gentle sex. He kissed Crawford on the lips and nuzzled Crawford's throat in contentment, his body buzzing with pleasure. 

He smiled again. It was dreamy, this whole thing. The world was quiet, and all that was left was sensation. That was nearly the best part about sex with Crawford – the ability to enjoy. Schuldich sighed a feathery sigh, arched and closed his eyes. He was comfortable, he was tingling and on the verge of orgasm. 

"Bradley." His voice almost too soft to be heard. "Brad…" he dug his fingers into Crawford's shoulders, and bit his lower lip. "God, Bradley…I love you…" his body tightened when he whispered that, his libido peaking and hungering for more. 

But Crawford stopped, grasped his shoulders and pushed him back down into the mattress. Crawford's eyes were confused. Crawford pulled himself out, pushed himself away, and just looked down at Schuldich. He wasn't angry. He wasn't demanding or looming. He wasn't anything. 

Schuldich's body was screaming in shock. Schuldich's heart was beating fast. 

Crawford stared at him, his voice reasonable and curious, "What?"   
  
  


The last time Schuldich had seen this field it was full of flowers, and two little lovers were standing here. No flowers this time. But Schuldich supposed that made sense. After Nagi had torn all the flowers to fly into the air, there had been nothing left to reseed it, to bloom again for another year. They did their work for Takatori and went home. 

Inside his head, Schuldich saw Crawford looking down at him. Crawford had been unoffended, unfeeling, and a little startled. He could hear that simple question again and again, Crawford just pulling away, and asking, "what?" 

It was Schuldich who got out of hand. He couldn't help it. He was near tears by the end of the night. It was eventually agreed that it was fine for Schuldich to love him. Schuldich sighed at the thought. 

They went to their new flat, which was rich and sweet. Crawford had given up pretending to be poor, and invested their money in stocks so that they could say they'd gotten their money legitimately. 

Crawford went to bed early that night. 

Schuldich couldn't sleep. There was no reproach for what he'd said the other night. 

He still remembered the way his body peaked at the words, how he wanted to arch and come. How he wanted to hear Crawford say it back.   
  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
God hurts.  
  


Schuldich moaned lightly and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Fuck." He sighed. "This is not what I need right now." 

But the ambient noise couldn't drown out Farfarello this time. And Schuldich's headache made it hard to keep everyone out. 

We are the children of god. God is love. We are the children of love. Love is good. Anything that can love can hurt. If god can love, god can hurt. Hurt what god loves. We are the children of god. 

Schuldich sighed. His headaches made Farfarello loud. 

Crawford didn't love him back. Crawford was incapable of love. Crawford didn't mind that Schuldich loved him. 

He didn't mind, but he didn't return it. 

Schuldich's head hurt worse. He got a beer but didn't drink it. He lit a cigarette but forgot to smoke it. 

Crawford's beautiful eyes, so even, so unemotional. Crawford's messed hair, somehow managing to look noble. Crawford's sexy glasses, the symbolic undressing he'd perform every night when he went to bed, when he took them off and placed them on his night table. Crawford's fine bone structure. The smooth skin behind Crawford's knee that Schuldich loved to caress. Crawford's deep voice that can negotiate and reason and charm and threaten with so much calculated skill. Crawford's bedtime mannerisms. Crawford's sex. Crawford's smell. Crawford's laugh. Crawford's arrogant smirk. 

The more Schuldich thought of Crawford, the more his head hurt, the more he felt physically ill. 

He was in love. 

He was deeply, deeply in love. Twenty-four years old, and deeply deeply in love. He'd spent five years in Crawford's bed. Learning Crawford's body, his sense of humor, his pet peeves, his gentleness and his ferociousness. He knew Crawford better than anyone in the world ever could. He learned it all the hard way. Talking to, living with, and screwing him over a period of years. Five of them, to be exact…. 

Five years….eight? six? Wait, how old was he? Twenty-four. He was seventeen when he first screwed Crawford. Wasn't he? Eighteen. No… 

Schuldich's head hurt. He started to cry without really meaning to. Schuldich never cried. He hated tears. 

He tried to stand and swooned lightly. 

Was he drunk? 

How many beers had he had? 

He couldn't remember. His head wasn't working right. The world was thinking around him and he was drowning. 

The first night he'd spent in Crawford's bed came to his mind. He'd been seventeen. He'd lied and said he was eighteen. He had been so drunk then that he barely remembered the sex they had. He remembered massages he'd given Crawford, he remembered curling up at Crawford's side on their Italian leather couch and falling asleep watching movies. He remembered reading over Crawford's shoulder. 

He remembered sharing targets. His hand wrapped around Crawford's as he pulled the trigger to kill someone. He remembered wet dreams he'd had of Crawford when he was younger, when they were still just fuck buddies and he never thought his heart was capable of it. 

He remembered so much. He remembered too much. 

Now, he's fucked the whole thing up. Sure, Crawford didn't mind that Schuldich loved him. 

Crawford didn't care. 

Now when he touched Crawford and Crawford moved close, he knew it was just because Crawford liked the feel. It wasn't out of any sense of affection. 

It wasn't love. 

Schuldich walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Locked it. He turned on the bathroom light after the door was locked. He looked at himself in the mirror. Sexy bastard looked back at him. Eyes full of tears. Only weak shits cried. Why the fuck was he crying? 

Oh, yeah. 

Crawford didn't love him. And Crawford never would. Ever. Crawford didn't feel things like that. 

And now Schuldich couldn't stop crying. All those things they did together, empty. All the times Schuldich had rested close to Crawford, allowing himself to feel safe, meaningless. Nothing, the whole thing was nothing. He wanted more than anything right now for Crawford to open the door, walk to him, and hold him. Crawford had done that before. When no one was looking, Crawford would sense when Schuldich was nearing the edge, and carefully pull him back. 

But no one came. 

And the edge was closer. 

He pulled out a knife from a small sheath he had on his ankle. He opened it with his thumb easily. His favorite knife. He kept it sharp. He touched the tip of it to his arm. How did Farfarello do this? Schuldich couldn't think clearly. He pressed the tip hard, but it didn't puncture. 

He'd killed a few people with this knife. Puncturing skin always took work. But he couldn't press hard enough. He etched at himself for a while, at first all it did was leave a long white mark on his skin. Then it started to turn into a thin red stripe. And he stopped. He looked at it. 

He looked at his wrists. 

Twenty-four year old wrists. 

He had twenty-four year old wrists. 

He had five years with Crawford.   
  
Seventeen to Eighteen. One year.  
Nineteen to twenty. Two years.  
Twenty-one to Twenty-two. Three years.  
Twenty-three to Twenty-four. Four years.  
  
One year of sex.  
Adding and adding and adding and…  
This was their fifth year. No wait, it was more than that.  
  


When did he fall in love with Crawford? He wasn't even sure. He'd surprised himself in bed, to be honest. He hadn't expected the words to come out of his mouth, and when he'd said them, he'd had two strong reactions to them. The first was fear, his breath caught, and he froze. The second was erotic. It was like a tiny explosion. Crawford's body had suddenly become the most perfect thing in the world to him, he needed it badly. Crawford's body was his only release then, Crawford's breath, his heat, his smell, his entire presence… everything about it was perfect. Precious. Necessary for the sex to be good. He didn't want anyone else to be there in Crawford's place. It wasn't sex, it was making love. 

And when Crawford had pulled away…and looked at him in startled disbelief…   
Twenty-four year old wrists.  
Five years. Eight years? Four years?  
Of casual sex.  
  


Schuldich looked at the tiny, small stripe of red on his left wrist. It was between his two tendons. 

Schuldich walked to the bathtub, and held his wrist over it. He raised the knife high, and in one emotionless arch, pushed it through his twenty-four year old left wrist. 

It hurt. The flare went up his arm, shot through his entire body. His instincts screamed that this was something to run away from. His left arm jumped and clenched. His tendons moved around the blade. Blood started to move downwards from him. The small thread of red traced a calm line down the porcelain of the bathtub. The coolness of the it was soothing. The stream from his body had a pulse. He watched it. A small, pulsing cord being drawn out of his body. 

The pain was less. He was numb. 

He was bleeding to death, in a rhythm. 

Rhythmic things always reminded him of sex. 

And sex meant Crawford. 

He stared at his twenty-four year old wrist. He remembered saying the words, he held that memory tight. His arm ached, and ached and ached. His heart ached and ached and ached. Ached badly. It ached and ached like there was a hole in it.   
  
Schuldich laughed. There, _was_ a hole in it.  
He was getting sleepy  
He could hear Nagi's thoughts, about Tot.  
He could hear Farfarello's thoughts, about God.  
  


And god is love. And we are the children of love. And anything that can love can hurt. And he loved Crawford. And….and… 

From Crawford, there was nothing.   
  


* * *

- so like you said, good publicity. old story, new upload.  
_www.contrary-perfection.net_


End file.
